Seeing Lisbon
by lysjelonken
Summary: For the very first time he saw her. He saw Teresa, not Lisbon. The woman with no professional demeanor or over efficient intensity to hide the insecurity and loneliness in her green eyes. He saw her walking away with someone else. JISBON


**Seeing Lisbon**

**Hi guys. I felt like writing an oneshot for once… I'm all up and at all my multi-chaps, I need the refreshing naïve fluffiness of a oneshot. Jisbon all the way, as if it could be anything else. Set in early season 3; **_**way**_** early.**

**If you don't want to watch Lisbon get picked up by a gross guy, then don't read this.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.**

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><p>She wasn't supposed to be here.<p>

That was the entire point of _him_ being here; none of _them_ being here.

He was going crazy lately with the Red John case – it seemed to be speeding forward at warp speed, but at the same time he was dying for any sign of progress. And with every step, it grew darker and darker. He often caught himself in a dark revere in the attic, surrounded by his notes, fingering the smooth, metallic curves of the gun in its box by his side.

And when he'd read the notes, after snapping out of his angry daze, they'd be little more than dark, nonsensical dribble.

He needed a break.

He needed a night off from the wake nightmare his life had become.

So he came here. Honestly, he didn't even know this bar existed until about half an hour ago. He just for into his blue Citroen and drove through the city until he found a place that seemed suitably quiet and low-key. It was in a hidden crevice of downtown Sacramento, in a neighbourhood that wasn't too grimy and scaly, but wasn't uptown either. He wouldn't have known it to be a bar in the first place if it wasn't for the luminescent green sign above the door.

When he first entered, he was greeted by the faint scent of dust and the soft chuckling and conversation of regulars.

No one paid attention to the melancholy stranger in the three piece suit when he ordered a scotch and went to sit in the corner of the bar.

But everyone noticed when she entered.

The small clock above the door alerted her entrance; every eye went to her as she walked to the bar.

She ordered her tequila shot quietly at the barman and turned in the chair to lean comfortably against the bar.

The low light looked good on her, he realized. Her pale skin glowed like ivory; her dark hair in dark contrast against her shoulder.

Suddenly the black T-shirt's dipping V-neck and the tight skinny jeans that she also happened to wear to work today seemed bewitching.

For a moment he wondered if there was some unthinkable force that _made_ this happen; surely it couldn't be a coincidence that both of them showed up at the same remote, out-of-the-way bar in downtown Sacramento (out of hundreds, surely) at the same time? He wasn't a man who believed in coincidences. He made his fortune out of taking every detail in account – nothing is by accident, everything means _something_.

Even now his disbelief in meaninglessness pays his bills.

He catches himself having these thoughts, and shakes his head viciously, discarding them.

_What, you're thinking _fate_ made Teresa come to this bar? Seriously? Come on, man! This is Lisbon. Why are you even thinking like this?_

He sighs in frustration at his own strange thoughts, then gets up. The least he can do is go and say hello. It being so strange that they're both at this bar, and all.

But before he could take a step from his dark corner, he saw something that made him stop.

A man stood up from a table in the middle of the bar; he walked with the swagger of a regular, he smiled with the confidence of a man in his comfort zone.

And he walked right to her.

A smile quickly spread over Jane's face and he sat back down. Oh, this was going to be good. He got a first row seat to see Lisbon break this cocky bastard down.

He took a sip of his scotch.

He could sit and watch this before going to greet her, right? It wouldn't do any harm.

He watched the man lean on the bar beside her, smiling charmingly. He watched as he spoke; surely saying some cheesy pick up line that should've died when it was born in the 80's.

He waited for it; the inevitable shoot-down.

First will come the scowl – this will let him know that his come on was not appreciate, making his smile falter.

Second, the glare – icy cold and sharp as a knife, it will make his smile fall off completely.

And then – finally – the lashing. She would insult him with decidedly salty language, as only she could. And he would scamper off, slightly traumatized and his ego seriously bruised, back to his little hoard of semi-drunk buddies. And he'd stay there, deathly embarrassed, for the rest of the night, drowning his ashamed self in cheap beer.

But it never happened.

After the smiling and the cheesy line, came something terrible and unexpected.

She smiled back.

She smiled and laughed at whatever lame line he used, then nodded as he signaled for the barman. She was letting him buy her a drink.

He can't believe it.

Lisbon – _his _Lisbon – was letting this oily douchebag hit on her. She was letting him buy her a drink.

She, who didn't take crap from any moustached police chief, who would cut any man who dared look down on her down to size, was letting this asshole come within an inch of her. The same woman who was respected (and/or feared) by the larger part of the male police force. And those who didn't have the sense to do so, quickly changed their tune would they meet her in person.

But there it was, plain as day in front of his eyes.

She was sitting by the bar (too close) beside him, twirling and ebony curl.

_Flirting_.

Like a _girl_.

Jane felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. And not just because of the obvious strangeness of the situation before him.

He felt a by-now unfamiliar sting on his chest; it seemed to boil through his veins, through every inch of his body, and tingle in his fist.

But he unclenched his hand.

This wasn't his place.

If Teresa – because she was Teresa here, not Lisbon, lady cop extraordinaire – wanted to be picked up in a bar by a man like that, that was her business. He knew her. She wasn't loose by far. If she was going to these measures, she has to be lonely and he could understand that.

He had no place or right to interrupt their date.

So he sat back down in his dark corner in the bar and finished two more scotches.

He watched them flirt for a while later, and he watched them get up and leave together.

And for the very first time he saw her.

He saw Teresa, not Lisbon.

The woman with no professional demeanor or over efficient intensity to hide the insecurity and loneliness in her green eyes.

He saw her walking away with someone else.

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><p><strong>Weird? Un-weird? Tell me!<strong>

**Much love, Zanny**


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